


Betrayal

by Skorook



Category: Metro 2033 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, M/M, Torture, mute artyom, something idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skorook/pseuds/Skorook
Summary: This is partly (maybe heavily? idk)  inspired by Moments in the Dark  by Allie2019 (you should check it out if you like Artyom/pavel cause it's really good!)There is blood and injury in this, but it's not too graphic.there will also be mentioned, referenced, or graphic homophobia if continued. (haven't really decided yet)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is partly (maybe heavily? idk) inspired by Moments in the Dark by Allie2019 (you should check it out if you like Artyom/pavel cause it's really good!)
> 
> There is blood and injury in this, but it's not too graphic. 
> 
> there will also be mentioned, referenced, or graphic homophobia if continued. (haven't really decided yet)

He felt the slow drag of the ever-familiar knife along his collar bone. A hand came up and slapped his head to the side. "Tell us about D6, spartan," the unfamiliar voice spat out. Artyom knew how impatient the Reds were getting with him. He was afraid of what else they had in store, but he would never let them see it.

He felt the all-to-familiar feeling across his chest and he grimaced, glancing down at the new slice that appeared. It stretched from one side of his torso to the other, and bright blood leaked out of it. He wondered how much of the red substance he had left, and when he'd run out.

"Your silence is admirable, yet stupid." The man growled out, "this is your final chance to speak up."

Artyom felt a sharp point pressed against his chin, and he unwillingly lifted his head to avoid it. His eyes met with the calm, yet angry, brown eyes of his captor and he swallowed, almost shuddering at the sight.

A new pain blossomed along the junction between his neck and his chin, and his head fell forward, coughing. He tried to grab at his neck but his hands only weakly struggled against the rope that tied him to the chair. He heard a thud and a low insult thrown at him as he was enveloped in darkness, all alone again.

There was nothing Artyom hated more than being alone, alone with his thoughts. It hurt worse than any torture the Reds could inflict on him. He just sat there, alone. His eyes darted around for any means of escape, but it all seemed hopeless. He would be stuck here alone, forever. He couldn't remember a single time the Order had came to his rescue. Why was that? Did they not care? He though he was useful, with all the missions he was sent on. He had done so much. He gave away all his time, an it always felt like he never had a moment to himself, never had a time where he wasn't in a constant fight for his life. Even now, even when he was all alone, he couldn't stop worrying. He could feel the soft trickle of blood from his many new wounds. They all stung, but he tried his best to ignore them. That was something he was good at, ignoring his needs. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a good sleep without being interrupted by his nightmares or.. other means. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a good meal-  
he was wrong.  
He could.  
It had been today, after all. It was the first bit of food he had in a week, and he had shared it with his best friend- his companion- his savior-  
Pavel.  
Pavel, Pavel, Pavel. Artyom liked Pavel, before.. before...  
A wetness sprung to his eyes and he rapidly blinked them shut. How pathetic would he look if his captors were to come in here, looking at his crying face? What if his friends from the Order were to see him? They'd call him such a baby, crying about something that was his fault. Why was he such a failure?

His captivity seemed to be the end of his usefulness. He knew his luck had run out. There was no way some random Red soldier felt like betraying their loyalty for /him./ He was just a lowly ranger. Nobody seemed to care about all the times he had saved the Order. It all felt bittersweet to him. He could still hear the whispered insults and degradations from passerbys of the station. "he didn't do that much." "why does the colonel like him so much? he's much more trouble than he's worth." "he doesn't /deserve/ to be a ranger."  
Artyom tried, he really did. He tried so hard to get their approval. It felt like he did everything sometimes. He...  
He hated it.  
He was so caught up in his mind's rambling that he hadn't noticed the slow creak of a door opening. He didn't even notice the soft sound of footsteps fill the room, until their owner's, all-to-familiar, voice spoke up.  
"Blyad, who turned off the lights?"


	2. This isn't what I wanted, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I decided to continue it! A friend of mine wanted me to, so here we are!
> 
> Pavel P.O.V.! I don't know how I feel about this chapter, as I'm not very good at writing dialogue (if you couldn't tell lol,) but here you go!

"Blyad, who turned off the lights?" Pavel tried to joke, a soft chuckle following. He was nervous, he was scared. His hands shook as he flicked the light switch on. He wasn't really prepared for anything, looking back. But he /definitely/ wasn't prepared for this.

His mouth fell agape, his whole body froze. If he hadn't smelled the strong, pungent /stench/ of blood in the air, he did now. He could barely recognize the grotesque figure in front of him.

There were red, gaping, bleeding, pouring slices covering most every inch of his.. buddy's, his friend's, his- he supposed he wasn't really any of those to artyom anymore, though.

His eyes flickered up to Artyom's face. It was the one part left untouched by the scary, /ugly/ scarlet marks. Despite the lack of damage to his face, besides a few budding bruises, Pavel could barely recognize him. He looked so.. Weak.  
Vulnerable.  
Scared.

He drew in a deep breath, quietly noting the puffiness of Artyom's eyes and his red cheeks. He had been crying.

"Ch-Chuvak! I see my buddies have been treating you.. Well.." He tried, struggling for a conversation. He saw his.. buddy?.. flinch as if he'd been burned, his once bright green eyes flickering up to Pavel's. He had a scowl set on his face. He glared at Pavel.  
It really amazed him how he could be so dead set on something when he was in such a.. compromising situation.

Taking a gulp, Pavel attempted to move forward a bit. It was a small, seemingly unthreatening move, but Artyom's reaction showed he thought anything but. His head snapped back, eyes widening in a temporary fear. Before they focused, and the glare and furrowed brows returned. Pavel let out a shaky breath. He didn't know what he had expected from Artyom.

Ignoring his /once/ friend's look of discouragement, he continued forward. He moved at a slow pace and tried to keep his face neutral, but he didn't really know if it was working. He felt sick. He hadn't wanted this to happen. He thought Artyom would just join the Red line, that he would just tell his authorities what they wanted to know. Why had he been so stupid? Why didn't he realize that Artyom was just too god damn stubborn for that? This was all Pavel's fault, after all. And he was determined to fix it, if possible. Swallowing down his fear, he fastened his pace and eventually met with the chair Artyom was forced down upon.

He could see the man visibly trembling. Whether it was from fear, or the immense pain he must have been in, Pavel did not know. Looking to the side of Artyom's damaged wrists, he saw the knife he had been in pursuit of. Grabbing it, he looked at it, the glint reflecting his face back at him. He could see the immense bags under his eyes, the constant frown, the upturned eyebrows-

He sighed. "I'm not really good at these things, Artyomi-" He stopped himself from saying the nickname. He could tell how scared Artyom was from here. "but I think this will help you, my...." He trailed off, not really knowing what to say. He lifted the knife into the air, noticing how Artyom's eyes closed in anticipation, and sliced through the rope holding down left wrist, and then his right. Grasping Artyom's right hand, he pushed the knife handle under his trembling fingers. Pavel offered a weak smile, not even having the courage to look up at Artyom's face.

At least, before he felt Artyom's fist come into contact with his right temple, and then everything turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Pavel isn't really in character, but I tried my best! I hope I did good enough so that it's not that bad lol


	3. Bleeding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artyom's P.O.V.!  
This one is a bit longer than the others, but also a bit more rushed so there's that  
This is not proofread so please point out any issues lol.  
Also, warning for gore? It's not too, too graphic but there is blood.

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers clenching the knife handle.

He took a look at the limp and unconscious body in front of him, and he took another deep breath.

He glanced back down at the knife and absolutely /dreaded/ the idea of having to move. He knew it would hurt, that his unstitched and untreated wounds would reopen and he would, most likely, bleed out.

Dying was also a chance, but he didn't really want to think about that right now.

Taking one final deep breath, he leaned down, knife raised in order to do it in one fluid motion.

Except, it hurt a bit more than he calculated.

His left hand flew up to cover the sounds of his gasps. His freshest wounds hurt the least, he was used to them by now. It was the older ones, the ones from maybe the first one or two hours of his torture. Red marked his vision and he wanted to cry out, but he knew it would just ruin any chance he had at escaping. He could feel tears prick his eyes from the sheer amount of agony he was in. He gave himself a moment to recuperate before continuing.

Swallowing, almost choking, he sliced the ropes tying his legs to the chair. He gave his toes an experimental wiggle, but they didn't move. It confirmed his worst fears, that he had lost circulation and walking would be even more of a struggle than he thought. That, and the pain he was /definitely/ going to feel.

Artyom didn't know how long he stayed doubled over, but he knew it had to be pretty long. He was so close to Pavel like this. Could smell the putrid scent of alcohol and sweat on him and his breath. 

He didn't lift his upper torso up, and instead simply fell forward. His body disagreed with him as he landed on Pavel with a thud. He had a quick moment of awe that the man was still unconscious. Alcohol and a possible concussion will do that to you, he guessed.

He let out a low groan, biting his lip as he pushed himself up. He decided that he had definitely had worse, that it wasn't a problem.

It was a problem, but he decided to ignore it.

He stumbled now that he was on his feet, and he turned to look at the vent sitting behind his chair and hoped it wouldn't be a long way to get out.

With a groan, he climbed atop the chair and pulled open the vent, climbing inside. He felt a suddden pang of regret for Pavel. If his authorities were to find him, passed out and in the room of an escaped captive.. Well, that would look quite compromising.

Crawling through the vents, he was left alone with his pain and thoughts. Again.

He didn't know why Pavel freed him. Guilt? Regret? Artyom would have been a bit more grateful if Pavel hadn't been the reason he was in this situation to begin with. All of this pain and suffering was, intentionally or not, Pavel's fault.

He continued straight through the vents, catching small snippets of others conversations. They seemed to echo off the walls, loud and ringing. He heard some talking about him, about how stupid he was and uncooperative. At least he did one thing right, he thought.

He felt a weird warmth on his hand and looked down, red painting his entire palm. With a quick glance of his head, he quietly assessed that he had, in fact, been bleeding out. There was a trail of blood leading throughout what seemed to be the entire vent, as far as he could see. At least he would know his way back.

Artyom realized that time really was of the essence. Ignoring his whole body's cries of pain, he powered through and picked up his pace. He finally seemed to reach a vent cover that led directly straight.

He let out an exhale, and peeked outside. Instead of seeing some room of the red base, he simply saw the abandoned tunnels. He smiled, followed by a quick grimace as a bruise on his cheek ached at the simple act of upturned lips. Using the handle of his knife, he hit it hard against each corner of the vent cover, until it fell off with a thud. 

His quick moment of happiness seemed to vanish within an instant as he noticed that he would have to fall. Again. 

Artyom's muscles tensed and he felt his wounds aching again in anticipation of what was to come. With a deep breath, he continued forward, and fell with a loud 'thump.' 

He managed to throw his hands out in front of him to prevent his wounds from touching the cold, hard ground. Still, a tremor ran through his body at the impact and he collapsed, rolling onto his back as he lay there in defeat.

Despite his attempts to ignore them, his thoughts seemed to invade his head.

/no one will come save you/

his thoughts were an unwanted intrusion. They were right, though. Why would someone come save him, of all people? A broken hero, who dreams of the surface and friendship. He was so naive and stupid. He was so angry at himself for trusting.. For wanting a companion like..

Like Pavel.

He suddenly found it hard to breath, and he was cold. He felt.. Empty. His vision was blurry, and it was hard to move.

Did he need his gas mask? Was he dying?

Maybe it was the ladder.

He felt the familiar warmth touch his hand and looked down at the puddle of red beneath him. He felt a bit dizzy, his breath coming out in short pants. He was so cold, he was never cold.. Unless.. He knew he needed to move, but it felt so good to just give up. To just lay there. He was so.. so tired, after all.

He let his eyes droop, suddenly forgetting where he was, why he was there, and the importance.

His consciousness slipped away, leaving him limp and bleeding out in the vast, lonely metro tunnels.

He was alone.

And he was dying


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but happy early thanksgiving everyone! Not proofread.  
Pavel's P.O.V.

He spent his time cleaning his gun, focusing on nothing but.

His ribs ached and so did his head, the beginning of a headache budding. Guess that's what happens when you get caught after helping a captive escape. Especially one of Artyom's importance. His teeth clenched at the memory, scrubbing away harder at the dirt and grime.

He spent a lot of time dismantling his gun, it was a good pass time. He supposed maybe he could pick up a hobby, like Artyom. Though, Pavel really never was good with his words.

Scrub, scrub.

He knew Artyom must have been frightened, but really? His respect for the hero simmered down, their roles had reversed. Pavel became the captive, and both Artyom and Pavel were at fault. Though in this case, it seemed Artyom didn't care. Or maybe he did, but it just wasn't enough. Either way, Artyom left him there, with the angry elites of the Red line. They whipped him, deprived him of food and sleep-

He fell just a bit short of slamming the polished pistol down onto his workbench. This day was going antagonizingly slow, he thought.

He heard a conveniently timed knock at the door, followed by a "Major, sir!" 

With a sigh, Pavel got up.

He didn't escape, nor did he get helped out of his position. He had to endure the punishment until he bowed back down to them, like a dog. The only reason he kept his rank was due to their need for experienced majors. They needed to be prepared for the march on D6, after all. The march was only a few days away, and he wasn't feeling the least bit excited for it. 

After all, he would probably see Artyom there. Would probably have to finish him off. Would probably have to watch the last drops of his blood drip out of his body.

Reaching the door, he twisted the knob with a slight tug.

Or, he would be the one dying. Would have to look into Artyom's shocked, yet disgusted face as he bled out.

Only if Artyom was still alive, though.

The recruit in the door way looked awfully skittish, his hand flying into a salute before he awkwardly tucked it away. "Major, sir! The u-uh.. Dates and time for the D6 Seige have changed, we... We will be taking off in the early morning, to the sound of the horn. _____ wants everyone to report to the common place." The recruit spoke, trying hard to keep his voice even and without letting the remnants of fear crawl in.

"He wants us to go to the common room now?" Pavel asked, voice tired as he rose his chin. He really didn't want to be part of this siege.

"Yes, Sir. Would you, uh, like me to bring you there?" The recruit asked, eager to please. It was the highest way up in the ranks.

"No, give me a moment to prepare and I will be there." Pavel said, watching as the recruit hurriedly skittered out, shutting the door behind him.

He grabbed his guns, his bag, and finally his hat.

With a sigh, he opened the door for himself.


	5. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long! But it's here now, and so is Anna! I haven't played the games in more than a year, so I don't remember how to characterize them (at all) so sorry that Anna is a bit... off.

Artyom awoke with a groan, a noise that echoed off of the sullen walls of the shithole he was in. He shifted himself and opened his eyes to the bleary lights, and blinked them away all the same. He felt pleasantly numb from the neck down, a pleasure he hadn't known he should have been expecting. Sitting up, Artyom quickly noticed the action was restricted by the stiffness in his arms. A look and a good amount of struggle confirmed that he was, in fact, tied down to the bed. His hands were tied to the arms of the old hospital bed, which was worn down and tearing in parts. His mind almost immediately went to a bad place and he started struggling much more, frantically writhing and arching against the restraints, eyes wide with fear.

A hand on his shoulder caused him to snap aggressively, his teeth tugging on the skin of his 'captor.' A familiar voice groaned in pain before chuckling, a sad sound. They pulled their hand away. "Sorry, Artyom. You just need to calm down a little for me, can you do that?" The familiar voice spoke up again, and that hand was back on his shoulder. Gently kneading there, calming Artyom down little by little until he sagged enough that he was back into a laying position.

"Good. Could you tell me how you feel?"

Artyom struggled against the confines of his hands and just let out an exasperated grunt. At least he couldn't feel the pain he must've been in, for them to give him so much medication. He hadn't been aware that they even had the stuff, let alone enough to keep him down for however long he'd been. Artyom looked up at his new 'captor' and he could tell, almost immediately who it was. She was frowning as her eyes darted down to his hands.

Anna undid the ties. "I'm sorry, it's easy to forget that you can't talk. I haven't seen you awake in..." She swallowed, a bit of a glossy appearance showing in her eyes before she shook it away with another sad smile. "Let's try that again, how do you feel?" Her voice had been so gentle, so soft that if Artyom hadn't been looking her in the eye, he wouldn't have known it was her.

Was he really that worse for wear? That Anna herself was looking at him with such pity? Artyom grit his teeth and tried his best to look passed it, he instead lifted his hands slowly, but they refused to be lifted. He let them drop back against the arms of the bed in silence. 

Anna frowned at him and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "Perhaps you're not ready to be awake, rabbit. I think it would be best if you went back to sleep." With her other hand, Anna reached for a syringe on the table besides him. "This is for the best." Artyom wasn't surprised when Anna wasted no time sterilizing his skin, they had ran out of proper sterilizing materials long ago. He gave a grunt to show his disapproval and started to thrash again, but he could tell the painkillers were wearing off. Pain blossomed across his chest and Anna let out a panicked noise, before stabbing the syringe into him.

It only took a little while before the light faded to a soft, shimmering black, and Artyom was asleep once again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please give criticism in the comments! (If you want to, of course!)  
I'm new to writing and I didn't really proof read this so if there are any big issues, please point them out!


End file.
